


Secrets

by IsVampirismGay



Series: Trans!d'Artagnan verse [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29188131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsVampirismGay/pseuds/IsVampirismGay
Summary: some secrets are revealed and others wait for their time.episodes 2-4 retelling contering on trans!d'artagnanthere's beginnings of pairings but they'll need some more time to get closer with each other for Proper shippy content
Relationships: d'Artagnan/Constance Bonacieux, d'Artagnan/Milady Clarick de Winter
Series: Trans!d'Artagnan verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2142954
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	Secrets

"Technically I'm still wanted for murder."

"That's why I think you're our best bet," Treville said.

"I should go," Athos said.

"No, he wouldn't trust you."

"I'm new in town and I've made a big entrance in which I tried to kill you," d'Atagnan told Athos. "I'm the only person here who can get to Vadim." He smiled sardonically. "Besides, I do need to pay rent somehow."

Athos sighed. "I still don't like it."

* * *

D'Artagnan could practically feel the distrust rolling off Vadim. He cursed the jailor, earning himself an insult and a blow to the torso.

"You'll hang tomorrow anyway!" the jailor said and spilled his stew over the floor.

"So young and already a murderer," Vadim commented, flipping a coin.

"One stupid royal less on this world," d'Artagnan said. "I'd say I've done the world justice by ridding it of that scum."

Vadim just smiled at him and kept playing with coin.

"What are you in for?"

"Stealing," Vadim answered, displaying his ugly smile. He flipped the coin again.

"Hopefully from someone worthwhile," d'Artagnan said.

"Royally so."

They've smiled conspiratorially.

"Well, we're both going to hang soon enough," d'Artagnan finally said. "Had I known I'd get caught anyway I wouldn't bother helping that Musketeer."

Vadim kept watching him with unnervingly steady gaze.

"Have you ever saved someone's life only for them to condemn yours?"

Vadim finally released him from his unrelenting look. He palmed the coin.

"My circumstances aren't nearly as bleak as yours," he said. "I will walk out of this prison free and no one will bat an eye."

D'Artagnan tilted his head. "How?"

* * *

Vadim had a chain around Queen's throat and a gun to her head. D'Artagnan froze.

"Come on," he said, feigning frustration. "At least let _me_ do it!"

"Open the gates or she dies!" Vadim shouted.

Treville was looking at them, briefly catching d'Artagnan's eye.

D'Artagnan nodded, looking straight at him.

"That's right!" he shouted. "And it'll be our pleasure!"

"Do as they say!" Treville ordered.

The gates behind them started opening. Surrounded by their own gunmen, they've started backing up.

"Release her already so we can run," d'Artagnan whispered to Vadim. "Or give me the pistol!"

Vadim chuckled.

"My apologies, Your Majesty," he murmured. "I hope my bloodthirsty friend did not frighten you too much."

He pressed a kiss to her cheek and released her, all of them running through the open gates. They've saddled the horses, Vadim's friend letting him join after a slight hesitation. D'Artagnan breathed a sigh of relief as they rode away. It seemed like he's successfully wormed his way into the conspiracy.

* * *

"I'm gonna hack your fingers off one at a time until you admit to being a spy."

Felix had him in a headlock, immobilising his arm so Vadim could place his chisel on his finger.

Panic surged through d'Artagnan. With a familiar rush he willed it to transform into anger. He didn't know what was that anger, but the heat of it was just the same as always. He directed it at Vadim.

"And what if I'm not?" he hissed.

"Then you'll be counting on your toes. But you'll be alive."

He glared at Vadim, every muscle in his body taut.

"Come on, Vadim!"

D'Artagnan snarled at Felix, making him struggle to keep him still.

Vadim still had the chisel on his finger. D'Artagnan stilled, looking at him, that well of rage still simmering in his chest.

Vadim raised the hammer and struck.

The metal cuffs fell off.

* * *

D'Artagnan ran, cursing himself and the Red Guards. He tried losing them in the labyrinth of the streets, finding himself backed into a dead end.

He turned around to face the two men.

Which ended up unnecessary as Milady stabbed one of them and shot the other.

"You!"

He stared at her in bafflement.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Your guardian angel," she replied.

"My guar-" he shook his head. "You framed me for murder!"

She shrugged. "I knew you were able to handle it."

He glared at her. "What games are you playing?"

She looked at her bloodied dagger.

"I have a very powerful patron, you know," she said conversationally. "He can grant you all the riches and power you desire."

D'Artagnan eyed her dubiously.

"If you take me to Vadim," she said.

"Because last time I trusted you with anything it went so well," he replied sarcastically.

"And now I've saved your life," she said, slowly crowding him into the wall. "It wasn't only the murder that made that night memorable," she murmured before kissing him.

He let her, her mouth too enticing to ignore.

She was manipulating him, seducing him and blatantly so. He found himself not caring about it.

"You're at the crossroads, d'Artagnan," she said, lips so tantalizingly close, but eluding him. "Choose Musketeers and you'll choose oblivion."

He chased her lips with his own.

"Once they learn who you are," she whispered, "They will hand you to the Chatelet the moment you're not useful anymore."

She brushed her lips against his.

He pushed her away.

"And what guarantee I have you won't do the same?" he spat.

She opened her mouth, words on her tongue.

"D'Artagnan!"

She stepped away from him.

"Another time," she whispered, dagger kissing his throat and then she was gone.

Athos, Porthos and Aramis found him, looking at the dead men on the ground.

"Go," Athos ordered, clapping him on the shoulder. "We'll deal with this."

* * *

He was going to die in one of the most gruesome ways possible and there was little he could do.

He kept trying to tear the rope, rubbing it furiously against the edge of the barrel.

At least if he got blown up on a mission he'd get a good funeral.

It was almost humorous.

He continued rubbing at the rope.

* * *

His ears still rang from the explosion and the gunshots as Constance's husband talked.

"I beg madam Bonacieux' forgiveness," he said once her husband shut up.

"I trust nothing of the kind will ever happen again," she replied.

He elected not to say anything about it.

The husband accompanied the Musketeers to the door, leaving d'Artagnan and Constance in the room alone.

"Things were very quiet before you came here, monsieur," she said.

He nervously shuffled his feet.

"I'm sorry, you must miss that," he replied.

"Not for a single second."

He looked at her, face open and sincere. He could almost recognise himself in that face.

But not in this lifetime.

He walked into his room, weapons heavy and jangling.

There were blue flowers on his pillow, tied together with a little ribbon.

He sat down, sighing.

* * *

"I'll take care of Athos," he said, taking his tankard and getting up from the table.

Aramis and Porthos looked at him.

"Are you sure?" Porthos asked. "You don't have to."

"Don't worry," d'Artagnan replied. "I'm not in the mood for much drinking anyway."

"If you insist," Aramis said, looking at Porthos who shrugged in response. "In that case don't mind us."

Porthos flagged down the barmaid, asking for another round.

D'Artagnan took a chair, sitting down across Athos.

"Join Porthos and Aramis," he said. "I'm poor company tonight."

"I don't care about that," d'Artagnan said. He sipped from his tankard and leaned back in his chair.

Athos shot him a curious look and poured himself more wine.

They sat in silence, Athos preoccupied with his bottle and d'Artagnan staring emptily and frowning slightly. After a while Athos made the barmaid bring him another bottle.

"You never take it off," he said.

"Take what off?" d'Artagnan said.

Athos tugged on the leather sleeve of the doublet. "This. Why?"

"I don't have another," d'Artagnan replied. "And it feels good to feel its weight."

Athos cocked his head. "I'm glad it's serving you well, then."

They sank into silence again. D'Artagnan readjusted the leather and watched the patrons drinking and joking. His body grew more and more tense, a his frown deepening.

Athos took his empty tankard and poured him some wine.

"I shouldn't drink," d'Artagnan mumbled.

"You look like you need some wine," Athos said. "Unless you want to disclose what's troubling you."

D'Artagnan watched his face, obscured by the shadows.

"One cup is not that much," he relented and took the wine. "Maybe I'll tell you some other day."

Athos nodded in understanding. "To unspoken burdens," he said and they clinked their glasses together.

"You look very innocent," Athos said. "For someone so full of anger."

"Better than the alternative," d'Artagnan replied and drank the rest of his wine.

"You can be angry at the outer world," Athos mumbled. "The only person _I_ can blame is myself."

D'Artagnan looked at him curiously, but Athos just drank more wine and kept quiet.

* * *

Athos ended up drinking himself to the point where d'Artagnan almost had to carry him home.

"You're a good lad," Athos mumbled into his shoulder. "You don't deserve this."

D'Artagnan was now trying to unlock the doors to Athos' flat without getting toppled by his friend's drunk weight.

"It's fine, Athos," he said quietly. He managed to open the doors and he helped Athos to his bed.

"I think I saw her," Athos said.

D'Artagnan looked at him quizzically. "Who?"

Athos shook his head. "Don't let her near," he mumbled. "She'll hurt you."

D'Artagnan helped him undo the buttons of his jacket.

"Who is she?" he asked.

Athos' face twisted into a pained grimace. He shook his head once again.

"Okay, you don't have to tell me."

D'Artagnan helped him out of the leather and made sure he was lying on his side before leaving the flat, locking it with the spare key.

* * *

As they rode to take Bonnaire to Pairs, d'Artagan couldn't help but feel worried about Athos. Porthos was the one who was hurt but he seemed to be doing fine -the wound expertly stitched and not infected- but Athos looked like a dead man walking the whole time they've spent at the mansion.

Aramis and Porthos were exchanging meaningful looks between each other for a while now.

"You know," Porthos said. "I think my wound is doing really well."

Aramis nodded in understanding. They've both looked at d'Artagnan.

"Go back, check on Athos," Porthos said.

"Are you sure you'll be fine?" d'Artagnan asked.

"He will," Aramis said. "Medic's professional opinion."

D'Artagnan nodded. "In that case I must go."

He stopped his horse, making it turn around.

"See you tomorrow morning!" he shouted and then he was already gone.

* * *

The whole place was on fire. D'Artagnan hesitantly stopped in front of the entrance, pacing around and looking for a way in that wasn't obscured yet by flames.

"Athos!" he screamed. His voice grated painfully in his throat, screeching in his ears.

"Athos!" he screamed again, this time even more desperate, voice falling into an almost animalistic screech. "Can you hear me?"

There was a rustle to the side and he turned around, looking for Athos but all he saw was a cloaked figure speeding away on a horse.

"Athos!" he screamed again, not wanting to think of who the stranger was or what has she done.

There was no answer from the mansion, except for the growing crackling of the fire.

He could feel tears spilling from his eyes, not knowing whether it was the smoke or the fear for Athos' life. He ran to the entrance, kicking the doors in and holding his cloak to shield his face.

"Athos!" He coughed, moving through smoke and fire. "Athos!"

He found him on the floor and rushed to his side, dragging the man up.

"It's me, d'Artagnan, come on, get up!" He frantically pulled him to his legs, almost carrying him out.

He let him down at a safe distance in front of the mansion and hurried to get his water skin. He took a sip, washing the ash from his mouth and spitting it out.

Athos was kneeling in the grass, looking at the fire with that scary-vacant look in his eyes.

D'Artagnan tilted his head up, pouring water over his face, trying to do anything to shake him from the strange trance he was in. He grabbed Athos' chin, trying to get him to look away to look at his face but Athos' gaze remained stubbornly fixed on the burning building.

"What happened?" d'Artagnan asked. "Who was that woman?"

"Since we've arrived I felt her presence, everywhere," Athos finally said, with a desperate coherency. "I thought I was imagining it."

"Who?"

"My wife," he answered, almost crying it out. "She died, five years ago now, by my orders."

D'Artagnan's eyebrows knotted in confusion.

"She was a cold-blooded murderess so I had to take her from the house and hang her from a branch of the tree."

He was still looking at the fire emptily, as confession rolled off his tongue and d'Artagnan felt horribly out of his depth, just wanting to tear his friend's gaze away from that horrible building.

"Look at me," he commanded, grabbing him by the lapels of the jacket. "Look at me!"

Athos finally obeyed him, turning away from the fire. D'Artagnan found himself at loss, unsure what to do.

"Are you saying the ghost of your dead wife tried to kill you?" he finally asked incredulously.

"She's not dead, d'Artagnan," Athos answered, shaking his head. "She survived."

"This was her revenge," d'Artagnan realised.

Athos reached out and grabbed at his jacket, d'Artagnan still holding onto Athos'.

"It was my duty," Athos said, hand gripping the leather desperately. "It was my duty to uphold the law!"

D'Artagnan looked at his face, feeling like he was appointed a judge to condemn Athos to hell.

"It was my duty to condemn my best and only friend to death!" Athos' voice broke. "I clanged to the belief that I had no choice."

D'Artagnan let go of Athos, trying to find a way to soothe him, to make him stop defending his actions like his soul was being weighed for all the sins.

"I trusted her with everything and then she destroyed it all. Five years I've had to think how maybe if I had been a better husband..."

He looked down at his own hands still gripping d'Artagnan's jacket and suddenly let go as if he burnt himself. He half-leaned, half-fell away from d'Artagnan.

D'Artagnan swallowed hard, closing his jacket.

"I'm so sorry," he said, voice trembling.

"Don't be," Athos replied. "It is my burden to bear."

D'Artagnan opened his mouth and closed it again.

"What do I do now?" Athos whispered before collapsing fully into grass.

D'Artagnan reached out to him, placing a hand on his knee.

"Come on," he said, voice still gravelly, working around the remains of the lump in his throat. “You shouldn’t live the rest of your life punishing yourself for all this," he said.

Athos rolled on his back, looking up at the sky.

"You're a Musketeer now," d'Artagnan continued. “Your past is not your present.”

Athos’ head lolled to the side and his eyes found d’Artagnan’s face. He looked so exhausted, like it took great effort to even keep his eyes open.

They stayed like this for a few moments and then Athos groaned quietly, turning his head away.

“Let’s get you out of here,” d’Artagnan said and helped him up.

* * *

They’ve arrived in Paris next morning, Athos finding the Spanish spy.

“Our Spanish friend,” Athos commented. “Leave him to me.”

D’Artagnan nodded in acknowledgement and continued through the streets.

“D’Artagnan,” Athos said quietly. “Say nothing to the others of what happened.”

D’Artagnan nodded. “You have my word.”

He hesitated for a moment. “But if you decided to tell them I’m sure they’d be very understanding,” he added.

“It is my cross to bear,” Athos replied.

D’Artagnan sighed and continued his way through the streets.

* * *

He was changing his shirt. He’s had a few of them now, Constance sewing them for him and stubbornly refusing to accept payment. There was a sound of footsteps outside his bedroom and he froze.

“There was a woman here while you were away,” Constance said. “Said her name was Milady de Winter. She seemed to know you.”

She paused for a moment. “Quite well.”

He pulled the shirt over his head, repeating the name to himself.

“I don’t know any Milady de Winter,” he told her, turning around.

“Dark hair, green eyes,” she said, averting her gaze from where he was lacing the shirt. “Very beautiful.”

His eyes widened. “What did she want?” he asked.

“She’s offering my husband work,” Constance answered.

“That’s good?” d’Artagnan said.

“My husband wouldn’t approve if you were seeing women alone in the house,” Constance added.

D’Artagnan snorted. “Like I could afford doing something that reckless.”

Constance nodded in understanding.

“She frightened me, d’Artagnan,” she confessed.

“She may or may not be the reason I was running away and hiding from everyone that day we met,” he admitted.

“She pinned a murder on you?” Constance asked incredulously.

D’Artagnan nodded.

“We should inform the guards!” Constance said. “Or the Musketeers!”

“No!” d’Artagnan said quickly. “That’s a really bad idea, Constance, I think she’s a spy and it could end _very_ badly.”

“That’s even more of a reason to tell someone!”

D’Artagnan sighed. “She has killed a man like this-” he snapped fingers, “-and you think we could just tell people about her?” He shook his head. “I need to know more about her before I do anything.”

Constance looked at him pleadingly before sighing and nodding. “You’re probably right,” she admitted. “I just really don’t want to see her again.”

His face softened and he approached her, taking her hand.

“I’ll do my best,” he said. “I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

Constance covered his hands with hers and squeezed.

* * *

“You’re scarily good at lying,” Aramis told him.

“Maybe you and Marsac are just painfully bad at it,” d’Artagnan replied. “But it doesn’t mean I like doing it.”

Aramis sighed. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“And,” d’Artagnan said sternly, “I don’t like him either.”

“I’m sorry, but he’s-”

“I know,” d’Artagnan interrupted. “But if he won’t keep his distance from Constance I’m turning him in.”

Aramis nodded. “Understood.”

* * *

“How in God’s name did he escape?”

Treville furiously let them to his office.

“We’ve lost him on the grounds,” Athos answered.

“He just uh,” Aramis said, “Got away.”

They’ve dutifully lined up in front of Treville’s desk.

“Didn’t you see him either?” Treville asked d’Artagnan.

“Same as others,” he replied. “We’ve found the point of entry but there were no traces of exit.”

Treville suppressed a frustrated groan.

“Athos, Porthos,” he finally said. “Report to the palace in the morning. As long as the duke is in France, his safety is now your responsibility.”

He looked at them disapprovingly, “And be vigilant! The assassin is still out there somewhere.”

* * *

“Hey!”

Porthos and Athos caught up with Aramis and d’Artagnan.

“You’re hiding something,” Athos told Aramis.

“No idea what you mean,” Aramis replied awkwardly.

Athos inspected d’Artagnan’s face.

“You’re either with him or were going to ask him the same,” he said. “Which one is it?”

Feeling the weight of Porthos’ and Athos’ gaze, d’Artagnan turned towards Aramis. “If you don’t tell them I will,” he finally said.

* * *

“ _You can pack your things.”_

D’Artagnan was picking up his meagre belongings – the few extra shirts he owned, a cloak, some other bits and pieces. He wasn’t in Paris for long enough to have too many things, especially with how he’s barely had enough money to get by.

“What are you doing?”

Constance was standing at the doors. He tried to make the clothes fit into the bag.

“You told me to pack my things,” he replied.

“I’ve killed a man for you, yet you still don’t trust me.”

He cringed.

“I gave my word to Aramis,” he said. “It wasn’t my secret to tell.”

She looked at him disapprovingly. “So you chose him over me,” she said.

“It’s not that simple,” he replied. “What kind of friend would I be if I broke my word to him?”

“What kind of friend lies about such serious things?”

“I didn’t do it out of mistrust for you,” he snapped, “I had a word to keep and we made sure he wouldn’t endanger you.”

“Tell your _friend_ ,” she hissed, “That if he needs to store any _failed assassins_ at my place he should at least be open about it!”

D’Artagnan lowered his head. “I’m sorry, you’re right,” he admitted. “We should have told you.” He looked up to her face. “I promise I won’t make the same mistake next time.”

She nodded, mulling over his words.

“Next time?”

“Well,” d’Artagnan said. “I was hoping that you might change your mind?” He looked at her hopefully.

“Well, we do need the money,” she said.

“And I swear I’ll never lie to you again,” d’Artagnan added.

“I hope not,” she replied. “Cause next time you’d be out on your rear.”

He nodded, averting his gaze.

“And-” She paused. “I’d miss you.”

He met her eyes, smiling. She smiled back bashfully and walked away.

* * *

He came back from their visit at Treville’s, troubled thought still swirling in his head. The not-confession and captain’s anger, Aramis’ insistence and Marsac’s strange behaviour preoccupied him mind, so he didn’t realise what was going on until he’s entered the room.

“Get off her!” he screamed, his voice an animalistic rasp.

He punched Marsac square in the face and yanked him off Constance, throwing him on the floor. He drew his pistol, pointing it at Marsac.

“Give me one reason not to kill you,” he growled.

“I beg your forgiveness,” Marsac said hastily.

“Don’t apologise to _me!”_ d’Artagnan snapped, bending over to pick Marsac roughly by the shirt. He tapped his temple with the barrel of the pistol. “Apologise to the woman you’ve wronged.”

Marsac’s eyes widened in panic and quickly found Coonstance, who was standing in the back.

“I am sorry, Madam,” he said, voice trembling. “I swear I used to be an honourable man, a Musketeer, now I can barely recognise my-”

“Stop making excuses!” d’Artagnan growled. “No one’s will made you force yourself upon her but your own.”

Marsac’s frantic look returned back to his face.

“I am so sorry,” he said.

D’Artagnan rolled his eyes and threw Marsac back on the floor. “Do I look like Constance?” he asked.

Marsac shook his head.

“Then don’t apologise to me!”

“My apologies, Madam,” Marsac said weakly, looking at Constance.

D’Artagnan granted him one final glare and turned towards Constance.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

Constance nodded.

D’Artagnan turned back towards Marsac. “On your feet,” he ordered. “To the room.”

Marsac scrambled to obey, cautiously walking back to d’Artagnan’s room. He was pointed to sit on the bed and d’Artagnan squatted in front of him to bind his hands.

His fingers trembled with leftover anger and adrenaline, but knots still held true as he tested them.

“You’re lucky Aramis needs you,” he said conversationally. “Or else I’d have killed you right there.”

Marsac nodded, not meeting his eyes.

“Once this is over I better not see your face again,” d’Artagnan added and left, closing the door behind him.

* * *

“I’ve tied him up, he won’t bother you again.”

Constance turned around. “Would you really have killed him?” she asked.

D’Artagnan looked down. “If it weren’t for Aramis and Savoy,” he said slowly, “I just might.”

She sighed. “I don’t want any blood to be spilled on my behalf,” she said. “Not even his.”

“I promise to avoid any bloodshed when you’re concerned, then,” d’Artagnan replied. “I apologise for making you suffer his presence in the house for a while longer.”

“Technically it’s your room,” she replied.

“Sorry. It seems like I brought you nothing but trouble since first we’ve met,” he said.

She started tidying up the table. “It makes a change, having someone else try to kiss me.” She took the candle stubs. “Never been so popular.”

“I just wish there was something I could do to make amends,” d’Artagnan said.

Constance straightened up, looking at him. “Well, there is one thing,” she said.

He looked at her face.

“No one in the world could know, especially not my husband,” she said quietly.

“Of course,” he softly replied. “What is it?”

Her eyes flicked to his face as she slowly approached him and leaned towards his face. He watched her unsurely, gaze escaping from her eyes to her lips.

“Teach me how to shoot,” she said into his ear and then leaned back, a hopeful smile on her face.

“Shoot?” he repeated.

“Swordfighting as well,” she added. “I’ve always liked the look of that.”

A wide smile spread across his face.

“I’m tired of letting men have all the fun,” she said. “Why do I have to be all dignified and ladylike?”

“I’ve always wondered the same,” he said. “When would you like to have the first lesson?”

A giddy laugh escaped her as she turned around to the tablecloth and plates. “Is Friday after lunch too soon?” she asked.

“Not at all.”

* * *

D’Artagnan got up from his spot at the table when Aramis entered.

“We need to talk,” he said, forgoing any greeting.

“What is it?” Aramis asked.

“When we were away Marsac tried to force himself on Constance.”

Colour drained from Aramis’ face.

“Is she okay?” he asked.

D’Artagnan nodded. “I came before anything too bad happened. He’s bound in my room now.”

Aramis sighed. “That’s a relief. I never thought he’d do something like that.”

“Well, he did. Now you deal with him.” D’Artagnan run a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to leave him alone with Constance anymore.”

“Where is she now?”

“Out, running errands,” d’Artagnan answered. He put his hand on Aramis’ shoulder. “Please, just deal with this as fast as you can.” He picked up his cloak and sword. “I have to go now, see you later.”

Aramis nodded in acknowledgement and walked towards d’Artagnan’s room.

* * *

Aramis caught him before they left the garrison, drawing him to the side.

“Listen,” he said, “I am extremely sorry about Constance.”

D’Artagnan nodded. “You’ve just had to bury him,” he said. “You should mourn him in peace, even if he wasn’t the man you remember.”

Aramis nodded. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t have the opportunity to talk to Constance though. Can you pass her my apologies?”

“Of course,” d’Artagnan said.

Aramis squeezed his shoulder in thanks and left.

“Take care of yourself,” d’Artagnan called after him, receiving a hat tip as acknowledgement.

* * *

D’Artagnan walked into the garrison courtyard.

“Porthos,” he called out. “Do you have time?”

Porthos nodded. “What for?” he asked.

“Sparring.”

“Sure,” Porthos agreed. “Swords or hands?”

“Hands.”

They’ve prepared, Porthos stripping down to his shirt and d’Aragnan putting down all his weapons.

“Ready?” Porthos asked, his signature smile on his face.

D’Artagnan nodded and raised his fists.

They’ve lunged at each other, Porthos trying to use his size and strength to capture his opponent and d’Artagnan sneaking in quick but brutal jabs whenever he could.

“You need to work on your parrying,” Porthos said after d’Artagnan landed breathless on the ground. “You’re very slippery, but you won’t be able to move out of the way every time.”

D’Artagnan got up with a groan and nodded.

“Ho about we go through counters for grapples,” Porthos suggested.

“Sounds good,” d’Artagnan replied.

This time they didn’t have a full on fight, Porthos instead repeating all sorts of ways to immobilise and throw a person. D’Artagnan did fairly well, managing to manipulate the larger man’s momentum against him.

Porthos tried to grab d’Artagnan’s arm and pull him into a chokehold, arms wound tight around d’Artagnan’s throat and chest. D’Artagnan trashed, biting hard into the arm at his throat and managed to slip away.

“Well,” Porthos said. “Unconventional, but fairly effective.”

D’Artagnan answered with a curt nod.

Poethos sighed. “You’re all wound up. Would you prefer to actually talk about it instead of using me as a punching bag?”

D’Artagnan stood in silence for a few moments. “They say you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” he finally said. “Doesn’t feel proper. At least not this soon after.”

Porthos raised an eyebrow. “Did something happen with Marsac?”

D’Artagnan nodded. “Told Aramis about it before I left that afternoon. Wanted to make sure Constance is looked after properly.”

“If it’s about him and Constance I think I can guess,” Porthos said.

“I came just in time before anything truly bad could have happened, though,” d’Artagnan said.

Porthos put an arm around him and led him to the table where they would usually have their meals. D’Artagnan shrugged his arm off his shoulders and sat down, Porthos joining him.

“I just can’t stop thinking about it,” d’Artagnan said. “What would have happened if I got held up and came later.”

“But you didn’t,” Porthos pointed out.

“I know,” d’Artagnan sighed. “I don’t like how much luck had to do with it.”

“In any case,” Porthos said, “I don’t think madam Bonacieux is quite that helpless.”

D’Artagnan snorted. “Yeah, she isn’t.”

“Drinks, tonight?” Porthos asked.

“You know it,” d’Artagnan answered, face brightening up.

* * *

Once they’ve actually arrived to the tavern d’Artagnan found himself not really enjoying the merriments. He excused himself, taking his tankard and joining Athos in his dark corner.

“Again with the wine in a mug,” Athos commented. “Next time just get yourself a cup from the start.”

“Very particular about proper drinking etiquette, aren’t you?” d’Artagnan said.

“No,” Athos answered. “But drinking wine from a tankard is practically a sacrilege.”

A corner of his mouth almost went up into a smile as d’Artagnan flagged down the barmaid and asked for a proper cup.

D’Artagnan poured himself a generous amount of wine and drank it all in one go.

“Considering how charitable you were towards my secret,” Athos said, “I was at first curious about your secret.” He poured himself more wine. “But now I don’t want to know.” He emptied the cup.

D’Artagnan snorted. “It would be best if no one ever learned,” he said. “But it’ll have to happen eventually.”

“Secrets do like to be revealed, don’t they?” Athos sighed.

D’Artagnan nodded mutely.

“Perhaps it would do you well to heed your own advice,” Athos said after a while. “Who you are in present is not who you were in the past.” He squeezed his eyes, looking like he was in great pain. “No matter how your past actions haunt you.”

D’Artagnan thoughtfully took a sip. “I suppose there’s a small comfort knowing it wasn’t really my actions,” d’Artagnan said. “But circumstances I couldn’t control.”

Athos shot him a look that was just a touch too intoxicated and miserable to be curious.

“I don’t want to unload more of my burden onto you,” he said hesitantly.

“By all means,” d’Artagnan interrupted. “At least I won’t dwell in my own misery.”

Athos nodded and poured himself more wine.

“Everyone thought I was going to perish as a babe, cleft lip making it difficult to feed me properly,” he finally said. “And after I did survive, I was still considered the unfortunate child.”

He drank the wine.

“And how right they were.”

“Don’t you think they’ve made you this unfortunate?” d’Artagnan asked.

Athos shook his head. “There’s… more,” he finally said, forming the words with great difficulty that had nothing to do with the wine.

D’Artagnan nodded. “Understood.”

They both emptied their cups, settling back into silence for the rest of the evening.

* * *

“You have to be very careful with the gunpowder,” d’Artagnan said. “If it gets damp it won’t explode properly.”

Constance nodded.

“Did your father really show you all this?” she asked.

D’Artagnan nodded. “I think he was disappointed he didn’t get a son,” he quietly said, “So when I started bugging him to teach me it didn’t take too long to relent.”

“Can I ask you something?” Constance said quietly.

“Of course,” d’Artagnan answered. “What is it?”

“How long have you been going around like this?” Constance asked. “Like a man, I mean.”

“Only since my father died,” d’Artagnan said. He looked at her. “The innkeeper gave me some clothes and I cut my hair on the way to Paris.”

“Is it easier?” Constance asked. “Going around the world as a man?”

He pondered for a moment.

“In a way, yes,” he said. “But at the same time I have to be so much more careful than I used to.”

“Don’t you get tired? Of being on your guard like that all the time?”

D’Artagnan shrugged. “It gets tiresome sometimes,” he answered. “But still, I wouldn’t change it for a world.”

“You know, sometimes I wish I was a man,” Constance said quietly. “For the freedom of it.”

He looked at her curiously.

“But I still like being a woman,” she added. “I just don’t like all the restrictions that come with it.”

“I used to think I had a problem with those too,” d’Artagnan. “But then I realised I wasn’t a woman at all.”

“What was it like?”

He smiled. “Quite liberating,” he answered. “I still don’t like all those rules.”

She smiled back. “Let’s break them some more then.”

She pointed at his sword. “You said you were going to teach me swordfighting as well?”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, you can always find me on @dropdeadjack if you're on tumblr


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